Martin Miggs and the School of Wizardry
by EvilSnack
Summary: Rejoice with me! I have found a way to salvage the fic so that it is once again canonical. I had to whack all of the seventh year stuff which was unpublished, and sixth year will have to go, too, but I'll try to replace it.
1. Introduction

Introduction

You should have concluded by now that I'm not Jo Rowling (why would she be posting here?) and from that deduced that the Harry Potter series is not my intellectual property.

This fic has existed in two versions. The first version had a different Muggle Studies teacher at the start of the series, and he departed to make way for the character that I brought in to fill the role, and Martin remained on the job for the duration of the Harry Potter years.

Then JKR gave a name to the Muggle Studies teacher, made said teacher female, had her on the job at the end of the sixth year (in order to be kidnapped by Voldemort and Gang), and replaced her with a Death Eater, thus rendering my own humble efforts entirely non-canonical.

By and large I am a very canon-sensitive person. I made significant edits after I read a scan of JKR's notes for _Prisoner of Azkaban_; you can read the notes at her site (if you can find them). I found out that she had names planned for Vector and Sinistra (names different from what I had thought up), and that at the time she scribbled the notes the Ancient Runes teacher was supposed to be a witch by the name of Bathsheba Babbling (and not, as I had conceived, a wizard surnamed Sigil).

Before _Deathly Hallows_ was published, I had warned the reading audience that any future canon which was incompatible with my own efforts would result in my taking the fic down. I don't like people who piss on the canon, and so when the events mentioned above were related in _Deathly Hallows_, I decided to take the fic down.

Then I got an inspiration, and found a way around just about everything. The problem is that I have to chuck all of the sixth-year stuff that was already posted, as there is no way to have Martin hanging around the castle during that time, and I will have to cook up something else to fill the void.

The series so far has revolved around Gryffindor and Slytherin, and so I wanted to explore things from the viewpoint of the Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw characters. Additionally, a few of the faculty members—Professors Sinistra and Vector, and the person who teaches Ancient Runes, for instance—have been mentioned in passing but have not had any "camera time," so to speak. So I've giving them some. I've also speculated that the comic book series that Ron collects, _The Adventures of Martin Miggs, the Mad Muggle_, is based on the doings of an actual Muggle.

But admittedly, the whole reason for this is to see what Hogwarts would be like for a Muggle. I am informed that there is a large quantity of Mary Sue/Gary Stu out there, in which a Muggle child attends Hogwarts for some reason, and discovers that she/he is a witch/wizard (and sleeps with Harry or Ron or Hermione or Draco or Lupin or Sirius or Snape or Buckbeak or what have you), but the idea of the Hogwarts staff (a) not knowing whether a given student is a Muggle, and (b) admitting a student whose magical ability is not established in some way, is simply ludicrous. From time to time the parents of a Muggle-born or halfblood student visit the school (that is canon as of _Chamber of Secrets_), but there would be only one reason for a Muggle to be spending extensive time at Hogwarts. Consequently, I have made Martin Miggs the new professor of Muggle Studies at Hogwarts. He will begin teaching during Harry's first year (although not right from the beginning of the year; he was not mentioned at the start of term feast).

Since I'm a Muggle of about the same age as Martin is in the stories I intend to write, and since I am a school teacher, the potential for this turning into Gary Stu is enormous. I promise not to make him wiser than Dumbledore, more devious than Snape, more upright than McGonagall, more industrious than Sprout, more intelligent than Flitwick, a better Seeker than Harry, a bigger prankster than Fred and George, or a harder drinker than Hagrid. And unlike Mary or Gary, he definitely won't be sleeping with any of them, although a romance between him and one of the witches his age will develop over the course of the series; if you've read everything I've posted so far, you won't have much trouble guessing who that will be.

Anyway, enjoy.

The story begins during Harry Potter's very first year. If there is an author's note at the top of a chapter, it explains where the chapter fits into the canon so far; if there is no note, assume that the chapter falls immediately after the previous chapter. As things stand, there are bits and pieces scattered all throughout the time of the first five books; except for the happenings of the first year, and a few things scattered afterwards, I haven't really plotted things out that well. Like the HP series from which this is derived, the last chapter is already written.


	2. In the Ministry of Magic

In the Ministry of Magic

Martin Miggs was, for the most part, and ordinary Englishman. He was married, had a daughter, and a job that paid enough to care for the family. He taught mathematics at a state school just a few minute's walk from his flat, and he enjoyed his work about as much as anyone else in his situation did. He also enjoyed a night or two every week at the pub for a pint or two and a few games of darts. He disliked Yanks in general, but liked the ones he knew (such as his cousin's husband).

This is not to say that nothing unusual ever happened to him, because the students in his classes took every opportunity to make something unusual happen. He was one of the more popular teachers, or one of the less unpopular ones, depending on what sort of student held the opinion; he had learned that while children are not as smart as they think they are, they are smarter than most adults take them to be. But by and large his life was fairly unremarkable.

Then one day Martin Miggs lost his family and seven years of his life.

The day had begun ordinarily enough. He got up, showered, dressed, ate the toast and drank the juice that Claire put out for him, gave Elizabeth a kiss as she slept, gave Claire a kiss at the door, and left for work.

Then, quite without warning, he was dizzy.

He staggered, but putting a hand to the wall stopped him from falling. When he was able to collect his wits, he noticed that he was no longer in the corridor that led past his flat, but in what looked like the corridor of an office building, and that a few strangely-dressed people had suddenly appeared around him. In addition, his breath was now coming in great ragged gasps, and his heart pounded as if he had just been running for his life. There was adrenaline in his veins. He leaned against the wall of the corridor, staring blankly at the people around him, until he caught some of his breath. "What has happened?" he asked.

"What do you remember?" asked one of them. This person held a small rod, which appeared to be wooden.

"I was just leaving my flat for work."

"Well, that puts him back a ways," one of them, an old man, said. "Arthur, we can handle him now. You go down and get that shoulder looked at."

A red-haired man who was holding his shoulder gingerly nodded faintly and turned away, going up the corridor.

Martin, still very wary, but beginning to calm down, noticed that everyone was carrying a small rod similar to the one he had first seen. "What's going on?" he asked.

"Please come with me, and I will explain everything," the old man said. He took Martin gently by the arm and guided him the other way along the corridor. Martin went along, and was soon steered into an office along the way; the door, which his guide closed behind them, read _Office for Muggle Victim Relief_. "Have a seat, if you like," the man said.

Martin said in a chair next to the first desk in the office, and the old man seated himself behind the desk, which among its clutter had a nameplate reading PHOEBUS PENROSE. "Would you like some tea, Mr. Miggs?"

"Yes, thank you."

"'Fraid all I have is the bagged stuff," he said. He turned to the teapot that sat on his desk and gave it a tap with his rod, which looked to be made of mahogany. Immediately the kettle began singing.

"How did you do that?"

"I beg your pardon—oh, that. It's part of the reason you're here." He got a pair of cups and saucers, tapped one of each with the rod again, and set them on the edge of the desk nearest Martin. He then dropped a tea bag into the cup and added the steaming water. He did he same to the other tea cup, and then sat down. "Do you believe in magic?"

"What?"

"Do you believe in magic?" the man repeated, with complete placidity.

"What are you about?" Martin asked. The question seemed completely unrelated to his sudden presence here.

"I want to know how well you understand your present situation. Do you believe in magic?"

Martin, who was not in the mood for this sort of foolishness, gave an exasperated sigh. "No, of course not," he replied.

"It is by magic that I just brought the tea water to boil."

"Nonsense. That could be a hotplate there."

"Quite true." Penrose thought for a moment. "What would it take to convince you that your belief is incorrect?"

Martin found the question annoying. "Oh, I don't know," he said sarcastically. He looked around, and pointed. "Turn that chair into a dog."

"Well, I'm not very good at Transfiguration, but I'll give it a try." He got up, rod in hand, and went over to the chair that Martin had picked. He waved the rod, said "_Caniverto_," and in the space of two heartbeats the chair grew long black and white hair, the back of the chair reshaped itself into a dog's head with floppy ears, and the legs and seat formed into a dog's legs and torso. The dog—a Border Collie—turned around, bemused, and wagged its tail.

"Great Caesar's ghost," Martin whispered, then, in a normal tone, "how did you do that?"

"A simple wave of my wand here, an incantation, and concentration on a specific result," Penrose replied. "It's the way most magic is done."

Martin gave his head a quick shake, but the dog remained.

"Are you convinced?"

Martin shrugged. "For the moment." He looked at Penrose. "Why haven't I heard about this before?"

"Those of us who are able to perform magic have decided to keep our existence a secret from non-magical people. We are a small minority among people at large, only about one out of every thousand, so if our existence became known we would have a great deal of difficulty controlling the situation. Consequently, one of the primary missions here at the Ministry of Magic is to ensure that wizarding society remains unknown to non-magical people such as yourself."

"Where can I learn how to do magic?"

"The basic ability to do magic is inborn; we are not quite certain if it is inherited or due to some other factor. If you're not born with it, you'll never be able to perform magic."

At this point a paper airplane came through the open transom and gently drifted over to one of the other desks. The dog gave a short bark and followed it, then sat bemused when the paper reached its apparent destination, where it fell to the desktop and remained still. Penrose raised his wand again, said "_Finite_," and then the dog turned back into a chair.

Martin closed his eyes and opened them again. The chair was still a chair. "Why was I brought here?"

"You weren't brought here, Mr. Miggs. You broke in."

Martin shook his head. "I don't remember breaking in here."

"What is the last thing you remember?"

"The last thing I remember, I was leaving my flat for work. Then, suddenly, I was out in the corridor."

"And you remember nothing of the time from when you left your flat to just now when you came to your senses out there?"

"No," he said, shaking his head. "Nothing at all."

"Tell me, what day is it?"

"October the sixteenth. I think." He paused. "Yes, definitely."

"And the year?"

"Nineteen eighty-four."

Penrose said nothing to this, but merely looked at the wall to Martin's left. Martin looked also. The calendar on the wall read _September 1991_ at the top. He stared at the date for five eternal seconds before he could speak. "Seven years? I've lost seven years?" he stammered.

Penrose nodded wordlessly.

Martin shot to his feet. "Claire? Elizabeth? What's happened to them?"

"You should sit down for this, Mr. Miggs."

With the hollow feeling in his stomach that foreboded the worst, Martin sat.

"I cannot think of a kind way to put this, so please forgive me. Your family is the reason you have been trying to break into the ministry. Shortly after the last day you remember, your wife and daughter were murdered by one of our kind."

—

It took a trip to Martin's flat, another visit to the council building to examine death certificates, and a final visit to the cemetery before Martin was fully persuaded. At first he was nurturing the suspicion that it was all a complicated prank being played on him, but these suspicions were dashed by the dates on the papers and magazines at the newsstand that they passed on the corner. The flat was empty, and as he walked through, looking for Claire and Elizabeth, he noticed that the clothing lying around was all his, and not theirs, and the flat itself was in a state that Claire would never have tolerated.

At the council offices, after an hour's wait, Martin read for himself the death certificates. Claire and Elizabeth had been strangled some seven years before.

"You said they were killed magically," he stammered when they were walking away from the council offices.

Penrose looked at Martin with an expression of frank pity. "The murderers used magic to accomplish it. The details would be too traumatic for you at this point."

While certificates made the deaths official, the plain granite grave markers, very lightly weathered, made them real. Their lifespans ended two weeks after the last day he remembered. For seven years, his wife and daughter had been waiting for him, six feet under the grass on which he stood.

"Couldn't you do anything?" he asked.

Penrose shook his head. "No spell can bring back the dead," he replied. "Some of our kind are buried here."

Martin held back the tears; he didn't want to cry in front of Penrose, who was still a relative stranger. "So now what happens?"

"The last three times you came to our attention, we made you forget whatever you'd learned about us, and left you to rebuild your life on your own."

Martin was quiet for several moments digesting this. "You bastards."

Penrose looked briefly uncomfortable. "Well, yes, that's not an unfair charge. Most of the Muggles—your kind, you know—need just one memory treatment, and then they resume their lives, without ever disrupting our affairs again. But somehow that's not working for you. This is the third time you've broken into the Ministry, looking for the people who murdered your family. I can count my fingers the number of times Muggles have gotten into the Ministry without magical assistance of some sort, and you are the only one to do it more than once." He gave a glance towards the grave stones. "Are you ready to go?"

Martin nodded dumbly, and they set off. Martin dreaded the arrival, because that was when he would have to wrestle with the feat of living without Claire and Elizabeth, but the walk was shorter and quicker than he wished.

"I presume you will want to be alone for a while," Penrose said, as they arrived Martin's flat. He looked uncomfortable as he said this.

Martin nodded dumbly. He got out the key to his flat and went in. "Won't you come in?" he asked.

"It would be better if I returned to the Ministry. I'm going to make a few contacts, and see if I can work out a better solution for you this time. I will call on you in the next day or so." He gave a nod of farewell and turned to leave.

"Just one moment," Martin said. He was beginning to tremble. "Did you catch the bastards?"

Penrose gave a very dejected shake of the head. "We know only that at least one of our kind did it. We haven't given up on finding them." He gave another nod, and this time Martin did not stop him from going.

Martin closed the door, and now, with nobody around him, he gave way to the misery that had been building up in him. For the rest of that day, and on through most of the night, he alternated between sobbing, raging, and numbness, and didn't get to sleep until the early hours of the morning.

The doorbell woke him up at nine o'clock. He rolled off of the couch—on which he had spent the night—staggered towards the door, and looking outside, saw his sister Dierdre.

"Good morning, Martin," she said as he let her in.

"Not good for me," Martin replied. He gave the door a push so that it closed. "Pardon the mess."

"Oh, I've gotten used to your housekeeping," she said.

"So what brings you here?"

"Phoebus Penrose told me I should pay you a visit."

"You know him?"

"I only met him yesterday," she said, taking a seat in the armchair, "but I've met some other people from the Ministry of Magic."

"You know about the Ministry? Penrose told me yesterday that they try to keep themselves a secret."

"Usually, they do. But that rule doesn't apply to everybody."

"Let me see if I can brew up something drinkable," he said, and stepped into the kitchen. "So what's the exception?"

"Sometimes, one of their kind is born into a family of our kind."

"Is that so?" He took a teapot to the sink.

"Yes," she said, sounding nearer. Martin looked and saw that she was now standing in the doorway. "It turns out that Raymond is one."

Martin put the kettle on the stove and turned around to face her.

"It sure explained a lot," she continued. "He'd done a few things by accident over the years. But in August we got a visit from the school that they have to learn all that stuff. Raymond's there now."

Martin started. "Speaking of which, shouldn't I be at work right now?"

"Where?"

"State school up the road here."

She shook her head. "You haven't worked in half a year."

"Sacked?"

She nodded her head. "After you lost Claire and Lizzie, you started having episodes of erratic behavior. I thought before that you were simply losing your grip on things. But last year you missed a lot of work and so they let you go."

"I suppose my finances are a shambles."

"Not yet, but they're getting there. Luckily for you, it takes an act of God to turn out a tenant nowadays. Anyway, Penrose paid me a visit yesterday, and after talking with him I finally know what you've been up to." She shook her head. "He told me that you're going through the loss again, fresh."

Martin swallowed the lump in his throat, but said nothing.

"This is the fourth time they've had to make you forget things."

"And I hate it."

The tea was ready, and for a while they sat at the kitchen table, drinking tea but saying nothing, until there was another knock at the door. Martin answered it, and seeing Phoebus Penrose outside of his door, admitted him and led him to the kitchen.

Penrose brightened when he saw Dierdre sitting at the table. "You'll be interested in hearing this," he said to her, and turned to Martin. "Mr. Miggs, by good chance I believe that I have found a situation that will assist you in your current circumstances. Would you be interested in a teaching position?"


	3. Headmaster Dumbledore

Headmaster Dumbledore

After Dierdre had left, Penrose took Martin back to the Ministry. The front lobby was very impressive affair, with animated writing on the ceilings, a fountain which featured golden statues, and paired rows of fireplaces in which people were appearing or disappearing in bursts of green flame every few moments. Martin wondered if he had come through this area on those now-forgotten occasions he had broken in, but his thoughts were interrupted by several loud gasps. He turned to the sound and saw that his entrance had not gone unnoticed; at least a half dozen people were watching him warily, and a few had their wands drawn.

"No cause for alarm," Penrose said to them, his hands up. "He's with me." He waited long enough for the people who had noticed Martin to return to what they were doing, and then motioned for Martin to follow him. Together they got in queue for one of the fireplaces. When it was their turn, Penrose had Martin stand on the unlit grate.

"Now this may startle you a bit, but please keep still," Penrose said. "I am about to send you to a pub in Scotland. You will see glimpses of many other places, but you must keep still. Our destination will not pass by quickly, and you'll feel like you've just landed on your feet. When that happens, step out quickly so that I can follow you." He raised his voice a bit, said "The Three Broomsticks," and threw a handful of powder at Martin's feet.

He was immediately engulfed in green flames, which faded as a spinning sensation overtook him. He caught only the most fleeting glimpse of dozens of places—some of which seemed to be people's homes—before one final scene stayed put, and Martin found himself standing in another fireplace in an old but well-kept and quite large pub. He got out of the way, as Penrose had told him, and after a moment Penrose appeared in a burst of green flame.

There were a few customers in the pub; they turned to look at Martin and Penrose as the latter stepped out of the fireplace, but then they turned their attention back their conversations. The landlady called from behind the bar. "What can I do for you gentlemen?" she asked.

"We're here to see Dumbledore," Penrose replied.

"He's waiting in the parlor," she replied. She led them to a set of doors off towards their right, and knocked lightly. "Headmaster? Your visitors are here."

The door opened, revealing a small room, furnished with a table and a few chairs, two of which were occupied. One of the occupants, an old man dressed in an elaborate robe, white with pruple trim, rose as they entered. "Good day, Phoebus," he said, bowing them towards two of the chairs. "Come in, come in."

"Martin, this is Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster at Hogwarts," Penrose said as they entered. "Headmaster, meet Martin Miggs."

Martin shook Dumbledore's hand, and Dumbledore introduced him to the other person in the parlor, a woman named Charity Burbage. As she slowly rose to greet him, he noted that she was not only pregnant, but not far from term. "Professor Burbage teaches Muggle Studies at Hogwarts," Dumbledore explained, "but as you can see, she will soon need to take a leave of absence, so I have begun looking for a suitable replacement. Please, make yourselves comfortable." Together the four sat down. "Ah, thank you, Rosmerta," he said, as the landlady appeared with a tea service. "Would any of you like a spot of tea?"

"Yes, thank you," Penrose replied, and Burbage and Martin nodded. Rosmerta poured tea for all of them, and then stepped out, closing the door behind her.

Dumbledore began. "You have made a bit of a name for yourself, Mr. Miggs. You've been a bit of trouble for the Ministry, at least."

"I lost my family to those," he began, then turning to Penrose, asked, "what did you call them?"

"Death Eaters," Penrose replied. He was looking into his teacup.

"And the customary precautions were not effective?" Dumbledore asked.

"No, not entirely. Simply blanking out his memory of the period didn't work. He kept finding all of the loose ends in his life."

"This happens more often than the Ministry likes to admit," Burbage said.

"As you said, Headmaster," Penrose continued, "it has led to trouble for us at the Ministry. He broke into the Ministry again yesterday morning."

"That makes it three times, if my memory serves me correctly," Dumbledore said.

Penrose nodded. "There was a bit of a scuffle—Arthur Weasley got a dislocated shoulder out of it—but no real harm done. Umbridge," he said, rolling his eyes a bit, "hit him with a Memory Charm, and nobody saw him enter, so now we'll probably never figure out how he did it. I was in favor of another strategy after his second break-in, and now that the same policy has failed three times, we need to try something else. His nephew is one of your students, so there's no real harm in letting him know about our society."

"I am given to wonder if our mantle of secrecy is worth the tremendous effort we expend on it," Dumbledore said.

"If I didn't know better, I'd swear he had some wizarding ability," Penrose continued. "He'd make a decent Auror. But he needs a way to keep himself occupied. Where someone can keep his mind on other things."

"That someone being myself."

"Well, Headmaster, he is a fully qualified teacher, he knows Muggles perfectly well, of course, and, as you say, you have need for a Muggle Studies teacher. So we can kill two dragons with one hex."

Dumbledore nodded. "What was Minister Fudge's opinion?"

Penrose looked sheepish. "The Minister is not yet aware of my plan. I thought he would be more amenable to the idea if you were already in favor of it."

Dumbledore briefly rolled his eyes, in good humor, then turned and regarded Martin for a minute. "I suppose I should tell you about the school."

Martin nodded. "I should like very much to hear about it."

"Hogwarts is the school where young wizards and witches go to learn how to control and use their inborn abilities," he began. "Twelve subjects are taught at the school. Muggle Studies, which is the position for which I am considering you, concerns the ways and affairs of Muggles, specifically British Muggles. This may not have occurred to you, but it is often the case that wizards who do not come from a Muggle background have very little first-hand knowledge of the Muggle world. The purpose of Muggle Studies is to remedy that ignorance in those students who wish, for whatever reason, to know more about Muggles. The Muggle Studies teacher also acts as liaison between the school and the parents of the Muggle-born students, and provides remedial academic instruction in reading and writing."

Martin made the faintest shrug. "Makes sense."

"I owe it to you to say that I have already taken the liberty of looking into your work record, and I have found that it was exemplary until the events that took your family away from you. I am satisfied that you are fully capable of performing at the level that I expect of my staff."

"Thank you very much."

The headmaster nodded. "Which leaves one final question," the old man said. "Mr. Miggs, can you find it in yourself to trust us and accept the position?"

Martin sat back slightly and gave the proposal some serious thought. The only real fly in the ointment, as Martin saw it, was that by accepting the position he would be throwing in, to however a slight degree, with people who had fiddled with his memory for reasons that in truth had nothing to do with his own welfare; still further, among these people lurked the ones who had murdered his family. On the other hand, he guessed that if he refused the job these same people would make him forget it again, and leave him the task of once again piecing his life back together, and he would never learn what had happened to Claire and Elizabeth.

Furthermore, and in spite of the reservations he knew he should have had, he found himself genuinely liking Dumbledore; he could not shake the notion that such a deeply-seated sense of manners could be found only in a man he could trust.

"Yes," he said.

"Thank you," Dumbledore said. "I should like you to start on Monday morning."


	4. Hogwarts

Hogwarts

Martin and Penrose returned to the Ministry building at the conclusion of the interview, and Martin rushed to his flat as quickly as possible and began the unwelcome task of clearing it of his possessions. Because of the Memory Charm that had been cast on him, the place that he had shared with his family was the last link he had with them. There was much less to clear out than he had remembered from his happier days; apparently he had disposed of most of Claire and Elizabeth's things from the apartment during the seven years of their absence, and all that remained were the clothes that Elizabeth had worn home from the hospital, a photo of the three of them at Milton Keynes on a holiday, and a velvet box with three rings inside of it. He noticed for the first time that his ring finger no longer had the thin pale spot that the gold band had pressed on it; he had quit wearing the ring some time ago. He wondered if he had been seeing any other women during the interim, but he was sure that there would be some sign of it, and so he concluded that he had done little if any dating. Even if he had, whatever adjustment to life without Claire that he had made was now forgotten; she may have been dead for seven years, but as far as he felt he had been a widower for only a day. He put on the ring that had been his, and put the other two in the trunk of things that he planned to take to the castle.

A lot of his own possessions were gone as well; as a widower he seemed to have lived a Spartan existence, as far a material comforts went, and he found evidence of no hobbies, except pursuit of whomever had murdered his family. This last fact was evidenced mostly by a lengthy, multi-volume log, stretching back a little over two years. At a certain stage he appeared to have imbibed a fear of being discovered, and had transcribed the entirety of the log into a cipher to which he could no longer remember the key. He put the log into his trunk.

He wound up giving most of the furniture and housewares to Dierdre and her husband, Roger, and had them hold onto everything that he could not pack into the trunk that he was taking to the school. They were in and out of his flat all weekend, mostly talking about what they would do with this or that piece of furniture. On Sunday evening, when it was all gone, he handed Roger the key to the flat and dragged his trunk to where Penrose was going to meet him.

A short walk to the Ministry, followed by another trip by Floo powder, brought them to the Three Broomsticks again. It was in the evening, and the pub was much more crowded. Charity Burbage, who had been waiting for them, approached them at once. "I'll take over from here, Penrose."

"Thank you, Professor." He tossed some more powder into the fire, stepped into the green flame, and vanished.

She conducted Martin outside. "No need to drag that thing around," she said, and she pointed the trunk. "_Locomotor trunk!_" she said, and the trunk rose into the air. "Much better." They set off towards the north.

The evening was darkening, but it was not too dark for Martin to spot the large ruin that appeared to lie just outside of the village. "How old is that ruined castle there?" he asked.

"That is Hogwarts," Burbage replied. "It has been enchanted so that non-magical people such as yourself see it the way you do now. Here, let me give you this." She rummaged through her robes, producing a ordinary-looking wristwatch. "Put this on," she said, handing it to Martin.

He took off the watch he had on, slipped that into his pocket, and put on the one given to him.

"Your electronic watch will not work properly in most of the castle, so this is a way of killing two dragons with one hex," she explained. "Now, tell me what you see."

Martin looked up and saw that the almost-shapeless heap of rubble was now a large, well-kept castle with towers everywhere, and lights coming from most of the windows. "Amazing."

"The watch keeps the enchantment from working on you. There are similar enchantments at the border of the village, so when passing in and out you will need to weat the watch then, as well."

"Will I be living in Hogsmeade?"

"Oh no. The room and board is provided in the castle."

They continued in silence until the reached a gate in the wall that surrounded the castle grounds. The gates, which were flanked by statues in the shape of winged boars, were open, and coming outside that very moment was the very largest man Martin had ever seen; he had to be at least eight feet tall, if not more, and was dressed and groomed like a backwoodsman. "Good evenin', Perfessor Burbage," he said.

"Good evening, Hagrid. Let me introduce you to Martin Miggs."

"Not that Muggle fellow?"

She nodded. "He has business up in the castle. Martin, meet Rubeus Hagrid, the gamekeeper here at Hogwarts."

Martin's hand completely disappeared into Hagrid's as they shook hands. "Pleased ter meet you," Hagrid said.

Burbage and Hagrid bid each other a good evening, and they parted. "You can see the greenhouses, right here," she said to Martin, waving an arm towards a set of greenhouses to their left. "That's dragon dung you smell, of course."

"_Dragon_ dung?"

"Yes, of course. Best fertilizer there is. Madam Sprout won't settle for anything less."

"So there really are dragons?"

"Oh, yes," Burbage replied, as if Martin has asked whether there was such a thing as trees. "The Ministry have led you to believe that they're mythical, of course, but that is merely an elaborate ruse."

"Are they particularly common?"

"Thankfully, no, although there are enough of them to keep the Ministry busy with damage control."

As the went by the greenhouses, Martin noticed a sign, which was bearely legible in the growing darkness: _DANGER. MANDRAKE HANDLING IN PROGRESS. HEARING PROTECTION REQUIRED BEYOND THIS POINT._

"What is it about Mandrakes that requires hearing protection?"

"They scream," Burbage replied. "The sound is fatal if you get too close." She noticed the look on Martin's face. "And I see that this is something else you don't know about."

Martin gave a wry smile and a nod.

"You may find it comforting to know that not everybody agrees with the Ministry on the anti-Muggle secrecy." She pointed off in the other direction. "Over there you can see the Forbidden Forest."

"Forbidden? What, is it full of werewolves and goblins and all that?"

"Not goblins, no, they all work in Gringott's. But there are lots of creatures that are too much for the students to handle, and some that want to be left alone, so we don't let the students in there alone."

The reached the castle proper. After passing through the entrance hall, they came into a much larger hall, which held five tables, four that ran the length of the hall, and one that ran across a low platform at the far end of the hall. The four tables were lined with students, while the fifth table hosted only adults.

"This is the Great Hall," Burbage said. "This is where the meals are served."

Martin looked around, and then up, and was surprised to see the clearing sky overhead, sprinkled with a few stars. "Why isn't there a roof here?"

"There is," she replied. "It's enchanted so that you can see the weather outside." She took him up to the head table, where some of the faculty was eating supper.

"Good evening, Professor Burbage," said one of them, who was as small as Hagrid was large. "Is this the new Muggle Studies teacher?"

She nodded. "Professor Miggs, meet Professor Flitwick. He teaches Charms, and is Head of House for Ravenclaw."

"Pleased to meet you," Martin said as they shook hands.

"Welcome to Hogwarts," Flitwick said, in a voice brimming with natural enthusiasm.

Burbage next introduced a brown-haired lady in deep velvet robes as the Astronomy teacher, Professor Sinistra. Martin was mostly glad to hear of a subject that he had at least heard of, but he kept this to himself as he shook hands with her.

"Won't you two join us?" asked Flitwick.

"Don't see any reason why not," Burbage said, and led Martin around to seats near the other two. She sat down, and helped herself to the nearest bowl. Martin followed suit, and found himself sampling what turned out to be very good goulash.

While he ate, he looked around at the students. They were all wearing black robes, with white shirts underneath, but with differently colored ties. There turned out to be four different colors of ties, and he noted that the students wearing a given color tended to all sit at the same table; he guessed that the tie colors represented the colors peculiar to each house.

When they were finished eating, Burbage led him out of the Great Hall by a different way. They went up three stairways, pausing to rest for a moment after climbing the second and third flights, and then down a couple of corridors. They paused before one of the doors while a group of students passed, and then went into the room beyond.

"This is the classroom," she said. They crossed the room to the door opposite, which opened to some stairs going up. "Up there are your quarters. Most of the Hogwarts staff have their living space adjacent to their classrooms, but these have been vacant since I married Dennis five years ago. We live in the village, you see. But I've told Rinkle to get them ready for you."

"Who's Rinkle?"

"Rinkle is one of the house elves. They do all of, well, what you Muggles know of as 'servant's work,' here in the castle." She noticed the way Martin was examining the walls at the bottom of the stairs. "Is something wrong?"

Martin had in fact been looking for a light switch, and said so.

"Oh, sorry," she said, smiling slightly. "I should have expected this. There's no electricity here in the castle. You'll have to use a lamp."

Martin shrugged. "So what will my duties entail?"

"You have five classes. Muggle Studies is optional, offered to students in the third through seventh years. As Dumbledore mentioned, you will also be giving remedial tutoring for students whose reading and writing skills fall short. Professor Vector, who teaches Arithmancy, teaches Remedial Mathematics, although you may offer her your assistance if you want to get on her good side. Your class load will be quite light, averaging about twenty hours per week. The bulk of your time will spent on your Muggle Liaison duties."

"How difficult are those?"

"It's mostly a matter of escorting the Muggle parents around the castle. There is often a degree of crisis management involved."

Martin brightened. "My own nephew is a student here. Maybe his parents will visit."

"Don't be hopeful; parental visits are rarely for a good reason. In any event, we have found that it's best for someone who understands Muggles to deal with the student's parents when it becomes necessary to communicate with them. Normally the position is filled by a Muggle-born witch or wizard such as myself."

"I see."

"I'd already sketched out my lesson plan for the first term, and you should have little difficulty getting up to speed. When you've had a look at it, you should read a history of the school. There is a copy there on the desk."

Martin nodded.

"The liaison duties, on the other hand, can be quite involved, and there's not really much I can do to prepare you for them."

"Surprise of the day?"

"I've never claimed to know what to expect," she replied. "Being a Muggle yourself, you may be better able to anticipate their behavior."

Martin nodded and glanced around the room. "How much longer will you be around the school?"

"Long enough to walk to the gates. I really should have been getting more rest already, and you certainly can see that I'm no friend of all of these stairs. But if you need my help, just send me an owl."

Martin had no idea what _sending an owl_, meant, but he put that question out of his mind. "Well, thank you very much for your help," he said, and put out his hand.

She shook it. "I'll have Filch bring you a lamp."

"Thank you, Professor."

She left, and Martin sat down at the desk and started reading. The class outlines were relatively straightforward, as they all referenced the passages in the textbook; Martin read the relevant passages for the next day's classes and set the notes aside. As he did so there was a knock at the door, and a rather raggedly-dressed man came limping in.

"Are you the new Muggle Studies teacher?" the man asked.

Martin rose. "Yes, yes I am. Martin Miggs."

"Argus Filch. Caretaker." He came forward and offered the lamp, and after some hesitation he returned Martin's handshake as well. "Ev'nin'," he said, and turned on his heel and left.

"Good evening," Martin said to his back, and he sat back down to resume his reading. The other book was titled _Hogwarts, a History_. He opened it up and read about the four witches and wizards who had founded the school, the establishment of the four houses, the departure of one of the founders, and a synopsis of the tenures of the thirty-one headmasters and headmistresses who had run the school since the demise of the last founder. Martin learned that in addition there was even more security against unwanted wizards than there was against unwanted Muggles, mostly because a small handful of spells kept the Muggles away, whereas there were spells to keep wizards from using brooms, Apparation, or Portkeys to enter the school grounds, although Martin had no idea what either of the latter two were. There were chapters devoted to the Forbidden Forest, the Quidditch Cup, and even a chamber that one of the founders had built but which nobody could find.

He had found himself dozing for the second time when he decided to turn in for the night. He dressed for bed, got in, and despite being on the most comfortable mattress he had ever felt, the events of the day kept him awake until some time after midnight, when he finally fell asleep.


End file.
